Strong wind snaked through the rooftops of Gorg City, lifting the calm leaves resting there and sweeping them toward the huge cone-shaped glass building.
"When are you guys joining the operation?" one of the two men at the entrance of a warehouse asked, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and handing it to the man beside him, coughing.
"I've heard we'll be going in two days," the man said, inhaling before blowing smoke into the air, then passed the cigarette back to the man with a scar on his forehead. He coughed twice, thumped his chest, and inhaled deeply again.
They stood there sharing the cigarette until the last ember died. Then the man with the scar flicked it into the two-foot gutter where red liquid flowed steadily.
A screeching sound echoed from behind them as a man dressed in a white long sleeve opened the door and walked out, covering his mouth as he yawned.
